


Luau

by wheel_pen



Series: Darkwood Eastport [23]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fish out of Water, Magic, Polygamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Orange Light clan attends the Newtons’ annual Memorial Day Luau. Cal enjoys people-watching (and judging), while Gillian enjoys the hard lemonade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luau

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe. I’ve given a lot of thought to the Darkwood culture, so if something seems confusing, feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy!

“What’s a _luau_ again?” asked a voice from the back of the minivan. Three other voices attempted to answer, while also correcting the pronunciation, and not all of them were right.

“It’s loo-ow,” Cal told them definitively, his voice cutting above the others. “It’s a party with a tacky tropical island theme.” Gillian made a warning noise beside him as he rounded a corner. “Well, you saw the invitation,” he reminded her. “A girl wearing nothing but grass and coconuts? For a family party?”

“I thought you were a man of the world, Dr. Orange Light,” Gillian teased. “Surely you’ve visited places where people wear even less!”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone indicating he was not conceding her point at all. “Where the apparel was being worn in its authentic cultural context.” Gillian shook her head with a little smile, unsurprised by his remark. “Clearly this party will merely be co-opting select motifs from a culture with which the hosts are _obviously_ not familiar. And they’ll probably be presented utterly devoid of their proper context. Which is just tacky.”

“Says the man with a snowglobe from Morocco on his desk,” Gillian pointed out.

“Yes, well, I’m displaying it ironically,” he insisted. “Has half the town been invited to this thing?” he added, seeing the line of vehicles parked along the street near the house.

“Mike says his parents’ annual Memorial Day Luau is a big event!” Alice reminded her father from the back.

“Guess we’re movin’ up in the social hierarchy,” Cal muttered. “You girls hop out, I’ll go park.”

By the time of their second Memorial Day in Eastport, the Darkwood clans had become established members of the community—or at least, established enough to rate the luau invitation. Not _all_ of them, of course, just the ones the Newtons knew better, which shockingly included the Orange Light clan whom Cal at least liked to think of as more reclusive. But various members of it had actually been to the Newtons’ house several times recently, due to the “relationship” between Alice and Mike. So naturally they were invited to the luau as well.

Through careful messages sent via social back channels, it was determined that six Orange Light family members would be the optimum amount—of course Gillian, as First Lady, wouldn’t dream of inflicting the whole lot on someone at once. Alice would come, naturally, and Gillian and Cal because they were the two best known as her parents—Eli and Ria had made their own trip to the Newtons’ dinner table with Alice, but the plural marriage concept was still a little tricky for people to grasp. Usually Cal argued that meant they should be exposed to it _more_ —so _he_ didn’t have to go out but rather could send Eli—but in this case Gillian had given him that _look_ of hers, so he reassessed the situation and decided attending the gathering might be of anthropological value.

That left three empty slots to fill with children, as Eli and Ria would both be needed to look after the remainder of the brood. After some deliberation they decided to take Alice’s roommates, the next three oldest girls—Anna, 14; Julia, 13; and Louisa, 12—as Mike’s sister Katie was also 13. Hopefully at least some of them would get along. Sheriff Burke’s daughter, Emma, was also about fourteen or so, and they were sure to be in attendance, so perhaps the Orange Light girls could make a positive impression on her—Cal was still a bit defensive about the whole Prom Night debacle. It was just so terribly ironic to be accused, however, speculatively, of child abuse when Cal had spent his entire career treating people who suffered from it.

Gillian had not taken the event as personally, however, which was probably necessary to balance out her husband. “Now remember what we talked about,” she reminded the girls as they approached the front door. “Polite, friendly, well-behaved. And there’s no servants here, so clean up after yourselves.”

“Yes, Mom,” said several girls in the long-suffering tones of teenagers who didn’t want to be reminded of such things. Well, they’d stop getting the reminders when they stopped needing them, Gillian thought.

The front door opened to reveal the smiling face of Cindy Newton, who welcomed them all in pleasantly. Back channels had also indicated it would be neighborly to bring food to the party, so each girl toted a couple gallons of various salads and casseroles—prepared by the servants, naturally. There were a couple selections from Eli and Ria in there, though, which hopefully weren’t too exotic for the Eastport palate.

“Hello, come in! Nice to see you again, why thanks for bringing that! Let’s just put it in here, it looks delicious, what is it? Did you make it yourself? Everyone’s out back!” Opening small talk, Gillian noted, was fairly universal.

“I don’t know if you’ve met these girls before,” Gillian introduced, lining them up before the hostess. “This is Anna, Julia, and Louisa.”

“Very nice to meet you all!” Cindy replied politely. “Don’t you all look so grown up!” Number one comment for making young teens squirm and blush—also universal. “Come on outside!”

The group of them stepped through the Newtons’ kitchen and outside to the back deck, where Gillian couldn’t help but stop to stare for a moment. “Mom?” prompted one of the girls.

“I can’t wait to hear what your father’s going to say about this,” she replied quietly, in their native language. The backyard was, indeed, tackier than Gillian had imagined possible, from the inflatable coolers with a giant plastic palm tree jutting from the middle, to the tables draped with grass-printed plastic, to the citronella torches decorated like—ouch—South Pacific totem poles. It seemed no aspect of the party had been left plain—people drank out of plastic coconuts and pineapples, and the serving dishes were shaped like palm leaves. Gillian just hoped her husband could control himself. The girls barely seemed to notice the décor and instead scattered across the yard, looking for their friends.

“Can I get you something to drink, Gillian?” Cindy offered. “We have iced tea, soda, hard lemonade if it isn’t too early for you…”

“Lemonade would be fine, thank you,” Gillian replied, momentarily thrown by the use of her given name. It was difficult to convey the subtleties of Darkwood address to the citizens of Eastport, and Gillian was never sure how hard she should try—she disliked correcting people, especially outsiders who might think she was just being overly picky. No Darkwood person outside her own clan (or a close relative) would call her just ‘Gillian,’ though—it would be Dr. Gillian or Lady Gillian, or for very formal settings, Lady Orange Light. People in America tended to be much more casual, she had noted. Accepting the glass of lemonade from her hostess, Gillian went off to make the rounds of the party, properly greeting all the Darkwood people she saw.

When she got back around to the deck she found Cal with a plate full of food, interrogating Cindy about the contents of every single dish. Not that her answers determined whether he would _eat_ the food—Cal would eat almost anything, except for meat that was breaded until it was unrecognizable. He felt that meat ‘in disguise’ was most likely cat or marmoset or something else less legal and sanitary than the beef or chicken it was advertised as. He liked to _know_ he was eating cat or marmoset, before he ate it.

Cindy saw his wife as a potential escape. “Gillian, let me get you some more lemonade,” she offered, seeing the empty glass. “Or would you prefer something else?”

Gillian hadn’t even noticed she’d polished off the drink. “Yes, I’ll have some more, thank you. It’s very good.”

“The chili has _mushrooms_ in it,” Cal reported to her, fortunately not in English. “It tastes alright though. And this pink stuff is _ham salad_ , which is just like tuna fish salad but with ham instead. And pickles. You should try some.”

“If you hadn’t told me it had pickles in it, I would have,” Gillian replied.

“Full disclosure,” he insisted, trying a new kind of dip. “This is disgusting.”

“Yet you keep eating it.”

“I’m trying to quantify the disgustingness of it.” Cal was a scientist to the end.

Part of being a scientist was observing, and while Cal had no problem being provocative when necessary (or even unnecessary), he most preferred to sit quietly in the corner and watch everyone else interact, picking up on the relationships, the lies, the potential problems—because those always existed, even as a ‘pleasant’ gathering like this one. One thing he quite liked about America was the concept of sunglasses, which were rarely used in the Valley. They were quite convenient for watching people without them realizing you were looking directly at them.

For example, all the teenage girls strutting around in sleeveless tops, some barely larger than lingerie, and equally abbreviated shorts—Cal didn’t watch them with _prurient_ interest, merely out of curiosity, to gather more data on the accepted community dress code. Not that any of _his_ children were going to dress that way no matter what, because most of the attire (or lack thereof) was _clearly_ about promoting sexual desirability and not at all related to a lack of material resources or extreme temperatures. The boys generally weren’t _as_ obvious at this age—a few tank tops, mostly, though if they started playing basketball in earnest later several of them would probably feel compelled to remove their shirts.

The shorts were often shorter and tighter on older men, Cal had noticed—those who felt they were in particularly good shape ‘for their age’ and wanted to show it off, usually. Also often the ones who gave off subtle (and not-so-subtle) flirting signals when talking to women, even if they were holding their wives’ hands at the time. Interesting. Normal, or abnormal? Most people would probably say normal, if it went no further than that, but they would say it grudgingly. Cal blamed the tyranny of monogamy as the romantic ideal, naturally, and also an inherent lack of trust among most romantic groups. If you were completely confident in the fidelity of your mate(s), there could be no harm in merely _looking_. And if you had three spouses already and the potential to gain more, well, _looking_ was almost expected. Possibly even encouraged. Though from a practical standpoint, Cal doubted an American would make a good Darkwood spouse, especially for a clan that _lived_ in America. Too many cultural pressures, too many temptations.

Not that Darkwood people were perfect. Far from it. But they were a biased population—the bad apples tended to be caught and rehabilitated early on, or banished in extreme cases. And those clans selected to go to America were definitely among the most stable and respectable, or so the Council of Elders had judged. It was really more of a yes/no decision, rather than a ranking.

As Cal had predicted there were a number of Darkwood members attending the party, whom he really ought to go around and greet. They probably wouldn’t be offended if he didn’t, though, and anyway Gillian had likely taken care of that duty on behalf of the clan.

Cal spotted Edward Black Swan off to one side, with his youngest wife and one of his husbands. Black Swan’s First Lady, Bella, was terminally shy and probably couldn’t be prevailed upon to attend an extra social event. So far the diner they ran had been quite successful—Cal at least usually ate there every day he was in town—but the clan home life was less so: the clan had been founded nearly three years ago but as yet they had no children, an unusual phenomenon for a Darkwood family. In the Valley such things were a question for the Council, while in America they fell to medical doctors.

All Cal could say was that in his experience, it was a matter of balance—something was wrong with them, with the way they lived, and when they corrected it sufficiently, they would have children. This attitude, he had learned, was considered archaic and even insulting in America, but then again he didn’t prescribe it to Americans (although it probably did apply in some cases)—everything had the potential to work differently in the Valley, from the weather to reproductive biology, and the Darkwood homes in Eastport had a little of the Valley in them.

Cal would readily admit he wasn’t an expert in such things, but he suspected the Black Swan clan had taken on too many spouses too quickly—there were probably unresolved personality conflicts. The middle wife, Rosalie, exuded hostility and had trouble getting along with most of the others, while Bella was far too passive to be a First Lady. Not that anyone had asked for Cal’s opinion on the matter—yet, anyway.

Cal also suspected Lord Edward had some issues of his own, probably with his father. In many so-called primitive societies, when a son reached adulthood he supplanted his father in the community, but in the modern world father and son were supposed to coexist, somehow magically switching from a superior-inferior relationship to one of equals. It went against the natural instincts of humanity, in Cal’s opinion—which meant not that it shouldn’t occur, but rather that it should be recognized as something people might need help with. Edward’s father, Dr. White Stag, was a man of great intelligence, compassion, and vision—it had been _his_ impetus that led them all to Eastport, after all—but such men could be difficult for their children, especially their sons, to live up to. The doctor was at the party as well, with his First Lady and a handful of teenage children, but he’d positioned himself with his back to his son Edward. Interesting.

Cal didn’t see any of the Red Water clan—headed by another son of Dr. White Stag—but they lived closer to Quoddy, the unincorporated village on the northwest portion of the island, and spent most of their time in their art shop. Lord Grey Staff was present, though, with his First Lady and several teenagers, the clan’s youngest children. In Darkwood terms the Grey Staff clan was nearly retired, its youngest children twin girls only a year younger than Alice. But there were six wives, so no one could say they hadn’t had a good run of it. They had come to Eastport for a change of pace, enjoying the freedom that came with not having to look after young children any longer; they ran the main grocery store in town, an unglamorous but vital occupation.

So: Orange Light, Grey Staff, White Stag, Black Swan. No Red Water, and no—well, Cal had seen several of the Brown Sparrow children running around, the teenagers who were often visiting at his house, but he hadn’t actually spotted any of the adults. Probably, they had volunteered to staff the clinic on this holiday, so the White Stags could attend this party. And let their children come alone? Well, Dr. Brown Sparrow was quite easy-going, Cal could imagine him allowing it. It wasn’t as if no one else would keep an eye on them, after all.

“Hey there, Doc,” said a friendly voice and the host of the party, Matt Newton, plopped down beside Cal with a plate of food that was likely not his first. “Enjoying yourself?”

Secretly, Cal liked Matt Newton, and possibly even his son—they were open-faced people, the opposite of calculating and cold. Cal could appreciate that. So he tried to say something pleasant that was also true. “Good opportunity for people-watchin’. For example, did you know that those two people are having an affair?”

“ _Which_ two?” Matt asked in surprise, looking over the crowd.

“Have a look, and take a guess,” Cal encouraged. “People who are having an affair tend to go a bit overboard when trying to hide it,” he added as a hint. Cal tried to treat every moment as a teaching moment.

Matt looked, then shook his head. “I don’t think I could pick out just two,” he sighed. “I run into way too many husbands who told their wives they were going off camping for the weekend, but never stopped by my store for supplies. Especially during tourist season.”

“That’s very interesting,” Cal remarked, because it was. He hadn’t considered the unique perspective a sporting-goods-store owner must have on small town life. “By the way, did Mike and Alice really have car trouble the other night?”

He was watching the other man’s reaction carefully, but Matt Newton displayed no signs of deception. “Yeah, the whole ignition module was shot,” he replied, shaking his head. “I took it over to Joe Tanner and he said it’ll be a week before the part’ll even come in.”

“That’s probably a lie,” Cal assessed. “By Joe, not by you,” he clarified. “He’s an alcoholic and he probably won’t be sober enough to even _order_ the part until Tuesday.”

“Huh,” Matt replied with interest. “I _have_ heard that rumor before…”

“It’s not a rumor, it’s the truth,” Cal stated. “He displays at least… eleven classic signs of alcoholism, plus he lies on top of that.”

“Huh,” Matt repeated, as though things were beginning to make sense. “Who do you folks go to, then—Miller’s? I always got a weird vibe from him…”

“That’s probably because he feels uncomfortable with his gender,” Cal informed him. “I expect he occasionally wears women’s clothes underneath his jumpsuit.”

Matt blinked at him. “He’s not a patient, is he?”

“No, of course not,” Cal scoffed. “It would be extremely unprofessional to discuss my patients with a layman.”

“Right, of course, sorry.”

“Seems like he’s honest about his business, though,” Cal added, “even if he’s not honest about his sexual identity. Don’t let the women’s underwear dissuade you.” Matt nodded thoughtfully. “But to answer your question, we have a Darkwood fellow who keeps up our cars,” Cal revealed. Actually it was the servants, but close enough. “If Joe Tanner doesn’t come through, have the car towed over to one of the Darkwood houses for repair,” he suggested. “I don’t want my daughter waiting by the side of the road again.”

If there was any condescension in Cal’s tone—and you could be sure there was—Matt didn’t seem to hear it. “Thanks, Doc, that’s mighty neighborly of you,” he replied, with sincerity.

“Anytime.”

A dark head suddenly popped up at Cal’s feet, on the other side of the deck railing. “Dad, can we go next door to swim in Megan’s pool?”

Cal removed his sunglasses, the better to study the girl. “Speak English, unless you’re saying something rude,” he instructed.

Louisa sighed and switched languages. “Megan said we could swim in her pool. It’s next door. Can we go?”

“You haven’t got swimsuits,” Cal pointed out.

But Louisa was prepared. “Megan’s got loads. She said we could borrow some.”

“Which one’s Megan?” Louisa pointed her out and Cal snorted. “No,” he finally said, as though it should be obvious. “If you’re gonna prance around in some skanky bikini”—like young Megan was—“you’re gonna do it in the privacy of our home, not in front of other people.”

Louisa blinked at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have said that in English,” she deadpanned.

Cal rolled his eyes. “Did you want anything else?”

“Mom said we could go,” Louisa informed him.

Cal raised an eyebrow in surprise, as what the girl had said was true. “What’d you tell her?”

Shrug. “Same thing I told you.” Also true, also strange.

“Well, you don’t want to go anyway,” he surmised, “so push off, and tell ‘em how mean I am.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad!” Louisa scurried away.

“Cute kid,” Matt commented.

“You probably didn’t notice,” Cal began, “but she’s adopted.”

Matt gave Cal a sideways look, realized he was being funny, and snorted. “Where’d you adopt her from?”

“Oh, she was in the Valley already,” Cal told him. “Someone brought her back from, hmm, Tanzania or someplace. There’s Anna, another of my daughters. She came from India. Julia’s running around here, too. Sadly she looks like my father.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know how you manage _four_ teenage girls,” he commiserated. “Just _one_ is enough to try me.”

“ _One_ is worse,” Cal agreed. “ _One_ is crafty and cunning and learns to work the system. It’s better to have four, because they’re not very smart in a group.” He set his drink down on a nearby table and stood up. “Excuse me. I think I better go locate my wife.”

“Okay. Nice talking to you, Doc.”

Gillian was in the kitchen, Cal knew. And feeling very strange, which he also knew. But before he joined her he paused to survey the ghastly yard, which sort of reminded him of the time he’d been to the _actual_ South Pacific, consumed too much fermented coconut milk during an initiation ritual, and puked his guts out around the village. The tropical-wannabe backyard didn’t _literally_ look like his despoiled grass hut in Pago Pago, of course—it was more that both evoked a similar feeling of violent disgust.

His attention was captured by a sound that was at once strange and familiar—familiar, in that it was Gillian laughing, but strange that he should hear it so loudly in public. At least, it was loud enough to carry through the screen door of the house. Cal followed the noise back inside to the kitchen, where Gillian was sitting on a chair at the counter, loose-limbed and extremely upbeat. _Extremely_ upbeat, even for her. Her audience consisted of Cindy Newton, Mike, and Alice, whose anxious expression was tinged with relief when her father appeared.

Gillian was still snickering at something the others had apparently long since stopped finding funny when Cal came up behind her. “You alright, love?” he asked casually in the Valley tongue.

Gillian spun around too quickly, startled by his appearance, and almost slid off the high chair before Cal could steady her. The near-accident gave her the giggles again, but Cindy was becoming uncertain and her eyes shifted nervously to the glass of yellow liquid in front of Gillian. “Cal, have you heard Mike talk about the _ignition module_ on his car?” she burbled to her husband, fortunately forgetting the English-only dictum. “His microexpressions and voice modulation are comparable to someone talking about their ill loved one! I really think we need to do a study about teenaged American males and their psycho-sexual relationship to motorized vehicles, which might be seen as some kind of socially-acceptable sublimation of normal sexual desires—“

“Dad, is Mom sick?” Alice asked worriedly. If someone was going to babble on inappropriately about psychological theories at a social gathering, she would expect it to be her father.

“No,” Cal assessed shrewdly, “but she might be later. What’s this, then?” he asked Gillian pleasantly, indicating her drink. “Is it good? Can I try some?”

“It’s yummy,” Gillian assured him playfully, walking her fingers up the buttons of his shirt. “It’s the _best_ lemonade! We should get some. What’s it called, Cindy? Er, what’s it called, Cindy?” she repeated in English.

“It’s, um, it’s Mike’s Hard Lemonade,” the hostess answered dubiously, as Cal took a sip and grimaced at the familiar flavor underlying it. Though it was better than fermented coconut milk, he would give it that. He pushed the glass out of Gillian’s grasp and gave the teenage boy a cold look.

“Hey, that’s just the brand name,” Mike clarified quickly. Then he turned on his mother. “Mom! You gave her alcohol?! I told you they don’t drink!”

Cindy looked suitably chagrined. “She really seemed to like it… I guess I didn’t explain it very well.”

“No, no, no more for you,” Cal told his wife, who was trying to inch across the counter towards her glass.

“Mom’s _drunk_?!” Alice exclaimed, looking less horrified and more entertained by the minute.

“Yeah, she’s plastered,” Cal answered succinctly, yanking his hand away as Gillian tried to bite him. It would have been an affectionate bite, though, he thought. “Well,” he added brightly to Cindy, “time we were gone.” He attempted to haul Gillian off the chair, though any vestiges of grace or dignity were pretty much gone at this point. “Alice, tell the girls I’ll be back for them in a bit, alright?” He didn’t trust Gillian to behave herself long enough to round them up—he was already holding her wrists together in front of her so she wouldn’t grab him anywhere inappropriate. “Lovely party, loved the décor, very authentic. Come on then, walk on out.”

Cindy followed them through the house to the front door. “Oh, Cal, I’m so sorry! I had no idea she didn’t realize it was _hard_ lemonade!”

“Well, actually, you probably suspected it,” Cal corrected, “but no harm done. She’s not pregnant, after all, and she should really know better.”

“Dad!” Alice chastised.

“Um, do you need any help, Dr. Orange Light?” Mike offered awkwardly.

“I do, actually,” Cal allowed, trying to convince Gillian of the proper direction to walk in. “Open the car door for me, will ya?”

Cal tossed the car keys to Mike, who hurried ahead to open the passenger-side door. Gillian was _not_ terribly excited to find herself maneuvered into the seat and strapped down, however. “Be still!” Cal told her in his most dominant tone, not wanting to catch her hand or foot in the door when he shut it. Grudgingly she struggled to obey. Well, that was a plus, anyway.

With Gillian safely tucked into the minivan, Cal turned a serious gaze on the teenage boy, and Mike straightened noticeably. “I’m gonna take her home now, and I’ll be back later to pick up the girls,” he reiterated. “Until then, I’m trusting you to look after them all.”

Cal thought the boy couldn’t have looked more honored with his responsibility if Cal had actually knighted him on the field of battle. “Yes, sir,” Mike replied with great formality. “I’ll take care of them, sir.”

Cal gave him a manly nod of acknowledgement, then hurried to get in the minivan and pull out before the smirk crossed his face. He shouldn’t toy with the Newton boy, he supposed. Well, his spouses said he shouldn’t toy with _anyone_ , but what fun was that? After all, it was _his_ mother who had gotten his wife drunk—in public! But oddly, Cal found it difficult to work up a proper righteous indignation about this. Possibly because Gillian was so d—n funny tipsy, especially when she tried (and failed) to control herself. Not that he would ever, _ever_ let anyone know that.

As Gillian had said earlier, Cal was a man of the world; he had traveled far more extensively than the average Darkwood native and he had purposely sought out new and different people and experiences. Translation: he had been intoxicated on a number of occasions, with a wide variety of substances. But—and this was quite an important part, he felt—he had never done it (just) for recreation. There was always an educational purpose to it, whether it was to participate fully in a ritual, to be accepted as a member of a group he wanted to study, or to document the effects of a substance that had such a profound impact on a segment of the population. There were some very interesting videos of him in his youth carefully packed away somewhere, which he still occasionally rewatched to study his reactions to different drugs—not that he wanted Alice or any of the other children to see them, of course. Unless they were older and had a professional interest someday. The _point_ was, Cal was no stranger to being drunk, or seeing other people drunk. Within their society, this simply wasn’t done, however, especially for trivial reasons—like Alice and her little Prom Night experiment. Though Cal supposed that, given their desire to experience American society, accidents were bound to happen.

“Stop that. You’re distracting me,” Cal told Gillian as she reached across the console and tickled the back of his neck. Not that his stern tone dissuaded her at all. She merely giggled and continued to chatter on about a disturbing connection between cars, sex, and teenage boys. “Would you shut it already?” he asked in aggravation as they rounded a corner on the highway.

“Is it the cars, the sex, or the teenage boys that really bother you?” Gillian teased, not keeping her hands to herself.

Cal rolled his eyes. “Look, there’s no point in having a conversation with you right now. You’re completely unintelligible.”

“Teenage boys. I thought so,” Gillian assessed, nodding too many times. “Well, don’t worry, I still like you best. Mike’s pretty cute, though…”

Cal turned to stare at her in horror, almost missing the side road that led deeper into the woods. Gillian cackled unnaturally at his reaction. “ _That_ is an _appalling_ way to talk,” he grumbled, focusing on the road again. “I think you’re not really drunk at all. You probably just had half a glass of that garbage and decided to play it up, to go home early.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” Gillian agreed enthusiastically, clearly not fully in control. “I’m _peeeeerfectly_ fine.”

At last they drove through the gates at the end of their driveway and under the thick boughs of the trees, heavy with summer leaves and pine needles. Cal slowed the van a bit, in case there were children or equipment lying about, and Gillian sighed beside him, seeming to appreciate the natural beauty as well. Of course the forest in the Valley was quite beautiful; but there was a certain fragility about nature here, a certain wildness, even on their land with the servants to tend to things, that didn’t exist in the manicured, managed Valley. And Cal had always been drawn to things both wild and fragile.

He pulled the van into its place in the dim garage and cut the engine. Everything seemed suddenly very quiet and after a moment he realized it was because Gillian had stopped talking. And had her eyes closed, her head propped awkwardly against the head rest. “Gillian?” Cal asked softly, giving her shoulder a gentle poke. Quiet was good. Asleep was okay. It would be a bit more difficult to move her, that was all. With a sigh Cal got out of the minivan and walked around to Gillian’s side, busying himself with untangling her from the seatbelt. He should probably summon a servant to carry her, and not risk it himself—the idea bruised his ego, but better a bruised ego than an aching back, especially as it was quite some distance from the garage to the—

Gillian planted her feet on the floor of the garage, wrapped her arms around Cal’s neck, and launched herself towards him. Her lips on his distracted him for a few milliseconds, until he banged into the car behind him. Cal swore colorfully and tried to come up for air.

She refused to be deterred, however, and continued to nibble along his neck and jaw. “You promised we could have sex in one of the cars sometime!” she reminded him reprovingly. “And we never have, not since we’ve been here…”

“Yeah, well, I only told you that so you’d let me buy the Cadillac,” Cal tried. He wasn’t sure if he really ought to be encouraging her or not—it wasn’t like he thought she’d _regret_ having sex with him, but it still seemed like a moral grey area. And risky, as well, if she got sick partway through. Not a pleasant thought. But it was quite difficult for Cal to think coherently when Gillian was doing _that_ , and _that_ , and making _that_ noise, especially when he did _this_ , and, well, there was no one else in the garage after all, so there wasn’t really any reason to—

“Cal? Gillian?” Gillian made a startled squeak-giggle that Eli heard on the other side of the minivan, from the doorway to the house. “Are you guys home already?”

Cal gave up trying to shush his wife and dragged her around the van into Eli’s sight—maybe he could make this another teaching moment. The younger man’s eyes went wide as he saw Gillian snickering and staggering into Cal. “Where’s Ria?” Cal asked sternly, before Eli could speak. “I want to talk to you two.” His tone suggested, he hoped, that he was quite displeased with the current situation.

Eli backed up quickly as Cal barged into the house, pausing momentarily to help Gillian navigate the three concrete steps. “Oh, hi, Eli,” she said brightly, as though she had just now noticed him. Her tone changed to something more… _interested_. “You look very nice today…”

Eli’s eyes darted from Gillian to Cal with what the older man was pleased to note was nervousness. “Is she—“

“What’s going on?” Ria asked, appearing in the foyer at the same time as the other three.

Gillian chose that moment to burst into raucous laughter and looped an arm through Eli’s, dragging him closer to her and Cal. “You know,” she began, in what she obviously thought was a whisper, “I’ve been thinking lately that the three of us should try to get a little _closer_ —“

“That’s nice, quite lovely,” Cal interrupted, while Eli sputtered. _Someone_ had to maintain control around here. Eli wisely scooted out of Gillian’s reach, though that left Cal as her sole fixation. And she was _definitely_ trying to get a little closer to him. _Focus, focus_ , Cal though. “Have either of you heard of _hard_ lemonade?” Gillian giggled naughtily and Cal tried to still her hands.

Eli and Ria were staring at the two of them open-mouthed—usually the elder members of their clan were _far_ more reserved about showing their affection, even in their own home. Well, granted, Cal was more or less just fighting Gillian off—Cal snapped his fingers impatiently to regain his younger spouses’ attention. “Uh, hard lemonade,” Eli repeated dully. His brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t that be—frozen?”

“Not exact—Ow! Gilly, no biting!”

“It’s got alcohol in it, right?” Ria guessed, observing the others closely.

As usual Ria’s instincts were correct. “So stay away from it, right,” Cal agreed, more than a little distracted. “ _Hard_ lemonade. Ask if you aren’t sure. Especially you.” He indicated Ria, the only one who would be pregnant or nursing over the next few years. “Gilly!”

“Whoa, she’s _drunk_?!” Eli exclaimed, sounding fascinated. He glanced around the foyer quickly. “Are we getting this on tape?”

Cal rolled his eyes as he tried to drag Gillian towards the stairs. “No. Would you—stop it—come on—“

“Don’t try to lift me!” Gillian shrieked suddenly as they reached the stairs. Everyone jumped.

“Okay, I’m not,” Cal promised soothingly. “Come up the stairs, then.”

Ria ran to help when Gillian wobbled a bit—Eli was afraid to get too close again. “What happened? Is she okay? Where are the girls?”

“Eli, could you run over to the Newtons’ and pick up the girls sometime?” Cal mentioned. “Come on then, let’s take a nap—“

“Ria, you should come with us,” Gillian insisted. “He would really like it!”

The younger woman’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Yeah, maybe some time when we’re all sober, right, love?” Cal replied, and Ria’s eyes got even bigger. “Now _come on_!” At last the two of them made it to the second floor and disappeared down the hall towards Cal’s rooms.

Eli and Ria stared after them for a moment, speechless. “I’m, uh—I’m gonna go get the girls,” he decided. That would at least give him a few minutes of alone time to contemplate the scene he’d just witnessed. And whether he had _really_ seen Cal smirk there at the end.


End file.
